Never Doubt I Love
by FitzwilliamDarcysMistress
Summary: A story telling what really happened in William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Or at least, the way I say it happened. It is also the love story of Hamlet and Ophelia. It begins with Polonius's murder. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

I sit in my room now, upon my bed, staring blankly at the curtains that surround it. My father was very short with me when he ordered me to my room after the play. "Ophelia," said he, "get thee to your chamber this instant." For a man of such slurred, incessant speech and meaningless tongue, this was very curt, indeed. As I bury my head deeply into the feathery mound of my pillow, my mind is filled with images of Hamlet, and his strange, almost frightening, behavior tonight. His ranting and raving, his vile talk of "country matters", and his anger so potent it washed all color from his face.

"Oh, help him, You Sweet Everlasting God!" I cry into my sheets. This can naught but come to evil. My dear, sweet Hamlet is going mad, the King and Queen are beside themselves, the entire state of Denmark is in turmoil, and I can be of no help to resolve this! I repeatedly pounded my soft pillow with hard, white fists, causing feathers to fly about the room, till finally I paused for air and relaxed my violent muscles. Perhaps, I muse as I wipe away a falling tear, I may be of some assistance to the Queen. She seemed most distressed at the abrupt end of the night's entertainment, and she may very well enjoy some pleasing company to help soothe her nerves. Queen Gertrude's nerves had been quite overpowering of late, often requiring me to bring her a variety of herbs to calm her distressed spirits. But tis' far too late an hour for a visit to the garden, so I stand from my bed, tie around myself my simple dressing gown, and slowly journey to the Queen's closet. As I yawn and stretch my aching muscles, I realize that I would much rather go to the Queen by way of the passages. Reaching my destination faster would sooner relieve the pain in my legs and feet. Resolved in this, I return to my closet for a candle, then find the nearest secret passage and journey down it. I do not necessarily need the candle, for Hamlet and I have gleefully explored these parts of the castle so many times in our youth I could make my way through in pitch black darkness without losing my direction. But it felt safer to have a candle. For some reason tonight felt most dangerous.

As I reach the secret door which opens to the Queen's closet, I hear her voice, clearly yelling with rage at whomever visits her tonight. I say a silent prayer that the visitor is not the King. I dislike the King well enough and know that he deserves the anger of all Denmark, but a disagreement between the two heads of our country would bring this distressing night, busy with upset, to its peak.

"Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue!" I hear the Queen bellow.

Her visitor growls in frustration. "Go, go, you answer with a wicked tongue!" he replies in a sarcastic tone.

Hamlet! One wise part of me knows that I should go and leave Hamlet and his mother to their private conversation, but another foolish, curious part of me implored me to stay where I was and listen to the heated argument. But of course, I listened to the foolish and curious part.

"Why, how now, Hamlet?" She sounds so desperate and confused.

"What's the matter now?" Hamlet said with a shocking amount of indifference.

"Have you forgotten me?" the Queen cried.

"No, by the rood, not so. You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife, and - would it were not so! - you are my mother." He spat out the word "mother" as if it were a disease.

"Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak." I stand dumb as I hear the Queen's footsteps become louder as she nears my hiding place. But my fears were relieved with Hamlet's sudden outburst, followed by much screaming and scuffling of furniture.

"Come, come, and you sit down!" he ordered. "You shall not budge. You go not till I set you up a glass where you may see the inmost part of you!"

"What wilt thou do?" the Queen screamed in terror. "Thou wilt not…murder me? Help, help, ho!" It is my duty to give help to my Queen whenever she is in need of it. But in this case, I am sure there is no danger. Hamlet may be going a bit mad, but I know in my heart that he would never murder his own mother. I inwardly chide Queen Gertrude for believing her own son capable of such malicious conduct. Though while _I _believed no assistance was necessary, a different visitor had other ideas.

"What, ho? Help, help, help!" My father? How long has he been in the Queen's chamber? Was he part of the conversation the whole of the time? It had sounded as if he was very close to me, in the same corner as the secret door I hide behind.

"How now, a rat?" Hamlet said with an evil chuckle. "Dead for a ducat, dead!"

I now hear the terrifying sounds of a rapier slicing through the air, of groans and of wailing.

"Oh, I am slain!" my father moans. I hear the loud crash as his body hits the floor, and my skin instantly chills and shakes as I, too, fall to the ground in a heap. I place my candle on the ground, and all further conversation is a muffled, for I can hear only the deafening beat of my own heart and the wails and shrieks so loud I am convinced they are protruding from the prison of my mind. My father…dead and gone…and by my love's hand. To the devil that he says he loves me not, for I willingly acknowledge now that I loved him even when he said those vile words to me. I still loved him as he hurtled me across the throne room floor yelling, "Get thee to a nunnery!" But could I love him now, as my father's blood stains his hands, still warm from its time spent in his body? As my father's blood, the very same blood that runs through my veins, coats the end of his sword? My mind is now in a complete state of ecstasy and confusion. I see nothing, for my sight is blurred by my salty, wretched tears. But as I cry I make not a sound, as if my grief is so great, all the screams and cries and wails God has gifted us capable of professing are not enough to illustrate it. So I sit in silence, the knees held at my chest covered my nightgown, now soaked and wrinkled as proof of the vast amount of tears I have shed. Till I am suddenly pulled out of my thoughts by a scraping sound and Hamlet's silky…rich…murderous voice. "Good night, mother."

* * *

><p>"Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you," I say to the now deceased old fool I drag out of my mother's chambers by way of a secret passage. After I open the door, my eyes rivet back to my mother and I gift her with a small smile. Most likely the first genuine smile she has seen grace my lips in months. "Good night, mother."<p>

Upon the body and I being safely closeted in the dark passages, I close my eyes and release the monumental breath I had not realized I was holding. When my eyes open, they are shocked to behold Ophelia sitting on the ground hugging her legs, with skin paler than the moon and eyes redder than the pool of blood forming amid her father's slain body. She looks at me, but does not appear to see me. I can read nothing in her features but facts - she is shaking, her eyes are bulging out of their sockets - about her present state, no emotion is written on her face. When suddenly from her eyes pour forth a flood of salty tears and her lips form to let out a cry, but no sound comes. To stifle the wail I fear will come and which will surely be heard by others in the castle, I place my hands around Ophelia's waist and pull her up, quickly clamping her against me in hope that my clothing will absorb her shrieks. But she makes not one sound, one cry, one sigh, not a single whimper. Slowly I let my muscles relax and allow my body to melt into hers and my head to rest in the softness of her dark hair. I put my arms around her waist, hold her tightly, possessively, protectively, and I realize what a selfish ass I have been. I had forgotten entirely about how she might feel about my faux madness, my revenge. Never had I put into account the effects my actions would would have on her. Never had I allowed one single concern for her well-being to obtrude this skull of Narcissus I possess. I had not cared for Ophelia, the woman I love. Yes, I love her. I know now that I meant not a word of those devilish things I had said. So amazing is she that when I hold her thus, I feel all anger, anxiety, fear, doubt, depression, every negative feeling and thought I have carried on my back these past months, evaporate into thin air. I wish to hold her forever. But I know that I must quickly hide the body. In a last attempt to comfort her before I go, I let my hand slowly rub her neck. This causes her breathing to falter for a moment, in a way that builds an overwhelmingly large groan in the confines of my chest as if my very heart cries out for her. And then I slightly release her from my grasp, only enough so that I may see her face. From the little light the candle grants us as its flame dies out, I can only see the outline of a confused frown on her soft lips. I want to explain something, anything, about what I had done before I leave for heaven knows how long. "I…I…" But I could express no rational sentiments, only slurred words and soft breaths, till suddenly I broke the distance between us and very lightly touched my lips to hers.

"Doubt thou the stars art fire

Doubt thou the sun doth move

Doubt truth be a liar

_But never doubt I love_"

Finally I sever the small amount of space between our mouths with a deep, passionate kiss for which I had not realized I was so greatly in need. I am suddenly lost in a passion induced ecstasy, I bite, I lick, my mouth travels over her face and caresses her neck, but she does not participate in like manner. She simply follows along; but in a heated way which assures that her affection for me is not lost in the dust. But I must finish what I have started and hide Polonius's body.

I abruptly cease in my attentions and place one last kiss upon her neck before withdrawing. I step away, and instantly Ophelia is against the wall, her breathing heavy and raspy, her chest heaving, her knees shaking, urging her body to fall to the floor. So I pick her up, and slowly her arms wrap about my neck as I carry her out of the passages. After carefully helping Ophelia lean against a wall in the hallway, I go back into the dark depth of the passages to retrieve her father. I must think of a good hiding place in which to bury the man I have killed. The man I had hoped would be my father-in-law.


	2. Chapter 2

The best hiding space I could find was under the stairs that lead to the lobby. I blink back guilty tears as I cut the old man's body into chunks and place them carefully under the stone steps. _I wish I could have loved you as another father…And I am sorry. _

Immediately upon entering the throne room I hear the shouts of guards, courtiers, servants, "Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! My lord!" as the light of several torches pervades the darkness. Tis' far too late to go back.

* * *

><p>He left me standing in the hallway.<p>

He left me standing in the hallway! After kissing me with so much passion it left me dizzy with bliss and chilled to the bone from his touch. After killing my own father! I stood in the place where he left me for quite a long time, shocked at what had just past. Till finally the commotion that had taken hold of the entire castle snaps me out of my reverie. "Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! My lord!" several voices yell.

"Toying, teasing man!" I remark aloud. I need answers.

I race to the throne room where I see Hamlet being held by several burly guards. "Hamlet!" I scream. "HAMLET!" I race toward him only to be grabbed by another burly guard who pins my arms to my sides. "HAMLET!" I shake and struggle, but to no avail. The guard will not release me from his grasp. "Hamlet!" I fall on my knees in tears, the screams I had locked firmly inside of me being finally set free. I wail, I moan, I pound at my heart, till suddenly my vision is blurred and my body is weak, and I faint, falling unconscious onto the hard marble floor.

* * *

><p>"Hamlet!" she screams. "HAMLET!" The guard holds her tighter. "HAMLET!"<p>

My soul shudders at the sound of Ophelia's desperate wails. But I can do nothing for her as the guards lead me away. They hold me tightly, but I am able to glance back into the throne room just in time to see her fall to the ground. My skin turns white with fear, but I firmly press my lips together, forcing myself to rein in my emotions. I say a silent prayer that all will be well before being thrown into my uncle-father-cousin-king's office, the guards leaving me with Guildenstern, the damned traitor.

"Now Hamlet," the high and mighty King Claudius growled, "where's Polonius?" I will not allow him the peace of a sensible answer. Until I can exact my revenge on him for murdering my father, I want to burden him with the most confusing replies I can conjecture.

I give him an impish grin as I raise one brow and answer, "At supper."

At this Claudius looks so confused I could burst out laughing right here. "At supper where?" he asks cautiously.

I chuckle with delight. Show time.

"Not where he eats, but where he_ is eaten. _A certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him." Claudius glares at me in rage, and I continue in an authoritative tone. "Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We _fat _all creatures else to _fat _us, and we _fat _ourselves for maggots." At each use of the word "fat" I give him a hard poke in his big gut. "Your _fat_ - " Another poke. "king and your lean beggar is but variable service - two dishes but to one table." Claudius now stares at me coldly, waiting for me to go on with my subtle insults.

"That's the end," I assure him with a smile.

"Alas, alas!" Claudius moans as he paces about the floor with his hand on his temple. I take his words of distress as a delightful invitation to make him even more upset.

"A man may fish with a worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm," I carry on as if reciting a nursery rhyme.

"What dost thou mean by this?"

I stare at Claudius in a way that would surely burn a hole through his skull as I reply, "Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar."

He quickly returns my heated stare as he places a firm hand strongly on my shoulder. "Where…is…Polonius?" I hurriedly roll my shoulder to shrug off his hand. I cannot stand his touch. It is cold and hard, the touch of a murderer. I only for a moment allowed myself to remember that I, too, am a murderer now.

After leaving the bastard in anxiety for a satisfactory amount of time, I answer, "In heaven. Send hither to see. If your messenger find him not there, seek him i' th' other place yourself."

This made Claudius's face turn to the complexion of a rotten tomato, so angry was he, giving me an undeserved amount of pleasure. However, I know I should not let my enjoyment of this spectacle over rule Polonius's need for a decent burial. So with regret I add, "But if indeed you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you…go up the stairs into the lobby."

Claudius now bears a look of such smug satisfaction as I cannot bear to look upon as he sends some attendants to seek out Polonius's body. This will not do.

As one last jibe at the King's patience, I stop the attendants with my hand before they exit. My words are directed at them, but I look at Claudius as I say in a sarcastic tone, "He will stay till you come."

My remark earned some slight laughter from the attendants, till Claudius's cold glare silenced them and they left the room to seek out my murder victim.

"Hamlet," says Claudius after they were gone, "this deed, for thine especial safety - which we do tender as we dearly grieve for that which thou hast done - must send thee hence with fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself, the bark is ready and the wind at help, th' associates tend, and everything is bent for England." This entire declaration was pointless. I know very well that he does not tender my "especial safety" as he called it, as well as I know that I am being sent to England.

I answer him with counterfeit shock. "For England?" I say with a dramatic gasp.

"Ay, Hamlet."

"Good."

"So is it," he says as he gestures for me to leave his office, "if thou knew'st our purposes."

I slowly begin to leave him, finding the door without my eyes. "I see a cherub that sees them. But come," I suddenly jump back towards him, "for England."

"Farewell, dear mother," I finish with a hug and wet kiss on his cheek. He quickly pushes me away from him.

"Thy loving _father_, Hamlet," says he in an irritated tone.

"Ah, ah, ah, my _mother._" I vigorously wag my finger but one inch from his face.

"Father and mother is man and wife, man and wife is one flesh," I say in a squeaky, boyish voice, "and so, my mother - " I give him another unwanted kiss before releasing him and walking toward the exit. I slam the double doors open with a flourish as the grand finale.

"Come," I end with a polished bow, "for England!"


End file.
